And if, as Yarrow, through the woods Did meet us with unaltered face, Though we were changed and changing; If, then, some natural shadows spread Our inward prospect over, The soul's deep valley was not slow Eternal blessings on the Muse, And her divine employment! The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons Has o'er their pillow brooded; And Care waylay their steps Not easily eluded. a Sprite For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes; And leave thy Tweed and Teviot Preserve thy heart from sinking! O! while they minister to thee, Each vying with the other, May Health return to mellow Age, With Strength, her venturous brother; For Thou, upon a hundred streams, Of faithful love, undaunted truth, A gracious welcome shall be thine, Dreams treasured up from early days, The holy and the tender. And what, for this frail world, were all That mortals do or suffer, Did no responsive harp, no pen, Memorial tribute offer? Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? That hourly speaks within us? Nor deem that localised Romance Plays false with our affections; Unsanctifies our tears For fanciful dejections: made sport Ah, no! the visions of the past Life as she is our changeful Life, With friends and kindred dealing. Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day Who through the silent portal arch By the "last Minstrel," (not the last) Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream ! Fulfil thy pensive duty, Well pleased that future Bards should chant For simple hearts thy beauty, To dream-light dear while yet unseen, And dearer still, as now I feel, To memory's shadowy moonshine! I. ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES. A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes; Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue Than sceptred King or laurelled Conqueror knows, Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope! |